On Saturday night in New York visiting friends, I went to a lil old post-hipster dance party. It was like I died and had gone to heaven. It was better than a butterscotch krimpet, and having been raised in a Tastykake kinda town, I can assure you that translates into serious business.
It was Britpop night with more Justin Timberlake. It was cheesy 80's tunes with more Nirvana. It was $4-PBRs-worth-it to see a beautiful man in a police hat and the teeniest, tiniest kilt and fishnets. The bathroom was bright gold and my feet are still sore from all the bopping around. They played BREED right after Girls & Boys and before some Prince for crying out loud.
But Nirvana! I couldn't tell you the last time I have listened to Nirvana, especially in my "adult life". It was like 1992 had smacked my fushia legging-ed self with an old flannel shirt.
Hearing Nirvana made me haul out all my pre-2000 CD's when I got home. Has it been all these years really since I took down my Kurt Cobain poster? Since I listened to Kula Shaker while driving my 1987 Honda Accord? It feels like yesterday.
When I was dancing it's amazing how the words came back so easily (thanks, PBR!). Jumping up and down SCREAMING "we can plant a house we can build a tree!" was easier to recall than state capitols at Quiz Night. I think at the end of the night my throat hurt worse than my calves.
Which says a lot. Trust me.
So now high school Katastrophe is the soundtrack, and it's hard not to re-live some angst. And Tastykakes are on sale at CVS.
Trouble abound.
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